


Where It Hurts the Most

by peachgrove



Series: The Epilepsy Diaries [3]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Blood, Crying, Epilepsy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Neurological Disorders, Protectiveness, Seizures, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:46:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23373382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachgrove/pseuds/peachgrove
Summary: “Timmy, no! I’m coming, baby, I promise. Just lay down for me, okay?” Armie says as he holds his cell phone between his shoulder and ear, clichely dropping his keys as he tries to unlock the door. “Can you lay down?”Timmy only groans through the phone.orAn argument leads to things being said that weren't meant, and unfortunate events transpire.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: The Epilepsy Diaries [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1723651
Comments: 20
Kudos: 182





	Where It Hurts the Most

“Why does this prescription say Topamax?” Armie asks Timmy accusatory as he steps into the living room of their apartment.

Timmy sits with his legs pulled in on the couch, visibly stiffening when Armie says those words. He keeps his face in his phone though, not looking up in the slightest as he questions with badly mustered nonchalance, “What?”

Armie scoffs, already getting frustrated. “The pills, Timmy. Seriously, what is this?”

Timmy hesitates before looking up then, dragging his eyes across the room to gaze at Armie. He pretends to squint at the bottle, trying to appear clueless at first. It angers Armie, the game he’s playing. “Oh, yeah. That’s my new prescription.”

And then nothing. No further explanation, no excuses. Timmy simply turns back to his phone and acts as if Armie isn’t there. As if Armie didn’t just discover something that should most definitely be talked about. But Armie tries to keep his cool, gripping the bottle with a little more force than necessary before putting it in the coffee table. He stands back up and crosses his arms, trying to keep his irritation at bay.

“Do you...wanna maybe talk about this?” Armie says as calmly as he can.

Timmy’s eyes are still boring into his phone. “Nothing to talk about.”

This just makes Armie...well...pissed! Because this was the way Timmy always was. Nothing could ever be addressed without Armie forcing Timmy to acknowledge the problems they have. Timmy doesn’t do confrontation. And, yeah, that may sound like ignorant bliss to others but Armie hates it. He can’t do that. Because having someone who refuses to argue back is perhaps worse than someone not arguing at all, especially when it comes to problems in their relationship.

He knew Timmy’s seizures had become more frequent, but the boy hadn’t mentioned changing his medication. Armie forces out a fake laugh, scratching his head while looking at the ground. “Of course it isn’t.”

Timmy shrugs his shoulders from the couch. “It isn’t,” he confirms.

Armie wipes a hand over his face, feeling the heat in his cheeks as his temper becomes shorter and shorter with Timmy’s indifference. “So you go and change your prescription...after having the same one for the last four years...and you don’t tell me about it?” he says, trying not to come off as baffled as he is.

Timmy finally looks up then. “Well, maybe I don’t need you knowing my every move.”

“Every mo--? Tim, what are you talking about?” Armie says, utterly confused. He has never kept tabs on Timmy, ever. Where was this coming from?

The tension in the room grows past reversible then, and Armie knows what’s about to go down won’t be pretty.

“I’m talking about the fact that I don’t need to tell you everything I do. I’m a grown man, Armie. I can decide for myself.”

And Armie, well he just can’t understand. “Okay, yeah, Tim. That’s fine. I’m fine with you doing things on your own. But what’s not fine is you changing your epilepsy medication and not telling me. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

Timmy slams his phone down on the coffee table then. “No, I don’t, Armie. Why don’t you enlighten me on why this would be so fucking dangerous?”

Armie recoils then, almost not recognizing the boy in front of him. Timmy hardly ever cursed at Armie, especially during a disagreement. And his expression makes his words even worse. His eyebrows are furrowed, narrow eyes lay under them. Armie can tell he’s biting the inside of his bottom lip, a common thing he does when he’s angry. And Timmy is almost never angry.

He scoffs before saying, “Do I really need to remind you?!”

A blush creeps across Timmy’s face then. “That was different.”

“How? How was that different?”

“I was sick then.”

Armie thinks back to that time. When Timmy had first changed his prescription, about a year into their relationship, the adjustment was not at all pleasant. The nausea, the dizziness, the clumsiness that Timmy complained of every day. The increase in the number of seizures he had. Seizures upon seizures upon seizures.

“Why is he having more seizures? Isn’t the medication supposed to help? I think he should go back to his old prescription,” Armie had said to Nicole. Armie had asked her to come over after Timmy came out of a particularly bad seizure crying for his mom.

At the time, Nicole had put her arm around Armie, letting him lean his head against her chest. “He’s sick, sweetheart. And the cold he has isn’t really helping much. But he’s also adjusting. The medication takes a while for his body to get used to,” Nicole promised.

Armie sniffled from against her chest, tears burning behind his eyes. “How long?”

“I’m not sure, darling.”

Armie snuggled further into her then where they sat on the couch, craving Nicole’s maternal nature that he never received from his own mother. “I don't want him to hurt anymore.”

“Oh, Armie. I’ve never wanted something for my baby boy so much in my life.”

Armie feels a pang in his heart then, feeling sympathy for Timmy, even as he glares at him in this moment. 

“Timmy, you’re still sick now. Epilepsy doesn’t just go away. It can’t be cured--”

“God, you think I don’t know that?!” Timmy yells then, raising his voice. “You think I don’t know that I can’t just make this go away?! I’ve lived with knowing that my entire life! Every day, living life with a disability. You think I don’t realize that?!”

Armie tries to diffuse the situation then, letting out a deep sigh to calm himself. He knows that they’re going to get nowhere if they don’t talk about this in a civilized manner. “Timmy, when did you stop taking Depakote?”

Timmy grits his teeth then. He rolls his eyes before looking away from Armie. “Like a week ago.”

“A week?” Armie says, truly stunned. He can’t believe that he didn’t notice something so drastic. Sure, Timmy didn’t have any grand mal seizures in the past week, but how could he not notice the other symptoms? The drowsiness, the hand tremors. How could he have missed that? Was he a bad boyfriend?

“Yeah, a fucking week, Armie. What, now you think I’m a liar too?” Timmy questions, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Too?” Armie asks.

“Yeah, ‘cause apparently I’m also being stupid for wanting to keep some things to myself, right?!” Timmy throws back.

Armie will admit, he wants nothing more than to call Timmy stupid. But he won’t. He won’t stoop that low. “You’re putting words in my mouth.”

Timmy huffs dramatically, pulling his hair and saying, “You’re seriously pissing me off.”

Armie watches, his temper only getting shorter by the second. “Well, that makes two of us. I mean, what were you thinking, Timmy? Something could’ve happened and I wouldn’t know what was wrong. God, if I had known you were changing your meds I wouldn’t have let you drive anywhere. Or go to the store by yourself. Or--”

Timmy jumps up from the couch then, motioning at Armie while clenching his jaw before turning his back to him. “See this! This is exactly what I’m talking about! I--I can’t do anything by myself. You’re always, always watching me like a hawk. I just wanna do something for myself!”

“It’s not watching you like a hawk, Timmy, it’s keeping an eye on your health!” Armie defends.

Timmy scoffs, turning back to Armie with mock interest. “My health?”

“Do you think this is funny? Is this seriously a fucking joke to you?!” Armie shouts, not holding back. “I mean, do you like having me worry my head off every day for you? Do you want me to just sit back and watch you have cluster seizures?!”

Timmy starts sarcastically clapping then, pushing out a fake laugh. “Ahh, and there he goes, folks. Making everything about himself again. Victim card at its finest.”

Armie feels his anger bubble as he thinks to himself, is he serious right now? Is he actually fucking joking?

“I play the victim card?! Me, Timmy?! Of all people?!” Armie screams. At this point he doesn’t even care if their neighbors hear. He can’t even imagine trying to suppress the amount of anger he’s feeling right now. “Everything I fucking do is for you, Tim! I do everything for you. How can you not see that?”

Timmy looks disgusted at the claims. “I can take care of myself just fine, Armie! I don’t need you.”

“Oh, you don’t need me? Not when you finish seizing? Not when you have no idea where you are, who you are, or who you’re with?” Armie scoffs, looking Timmy up and down. Degrading him. Hurting him. He knows it too. But he can’t bring himself to stop. “You’d be helpless without me, Timmy. Absolutely helpless.”

Timmy’s glare wavers momentarily, but he doesn’t let up either. “God, you are so full of yourself. You are truly in love with yourself, aren’t you? Does it make you feel good, huh? Is that it? Does being with me help your self esteem or something, Armie?”

And Armie knows, he knows he shouldn’t feed into what Timmy is throwing at him, but he just can’t stop. The anger he feels toward Timmy, himself, their situation, their dynamic, all boils over, and soon he feels that anger in his gut. It’s dying to come out, begging him to take it out on Timmy. Urging him to hurt Timmy like the world has hurt them both. 

Perhaps he regrets what he says before he even says it.

“You know what, Tim? Fuck you. I never wanted to do this anyway. Do you know how miserable it is being in a relationship with you? I fucking hate it. Every day, every second, I constantly worry about you, and this is what you give me in return?! Fuck that. You better find someone else to take care of you because I can’t fucking do it anymore!”

Armie instantly wants to take it back.

The anger quickly fizzles when Armie sees the look on Timmy’s face. It’s a look so devastating, Armie almost wants to puke. The boy’s face immediately falls, his bright green eyes going dark and unable to look Armie in the eye any longer. Tears gather in his eyes as he looks around the room, still trying to appear angry himself, but his quivering bottom lip gives him away. His face is seconds away from crumbling. All Armie can see in that expression is embarrassment, shame, self hatred, and hurt. He watches as the boy swallows harshly a few times, trying to catch his breath before he speaks, not wanting to crack, but Armie beats him to it.

“Timmy, baby, I’m...I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…” Armie stampers. “I didn’t mean any of that at all. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

When Armie tries to take a step closer to Timmy, the boy holds his hand up to stop him.

Timmy blinks up at the ceiling, turning away from Armie to wipe a few tears from his cheeks. When he turns back to face his boyfriend, he can only stare at his feet. “Why are you…” his voice wavers, high pitched and holding on by a thread. “Why are you with me then?”

Armie’s heart sinks to his stomach. He wants to hold Timmy so badly, but he knows he doesn’t deserve it.

“Because I love you, Tim. I love you so much, I really do. I’m so sorry.”

Timmy simply wipes his nose, not acknowledging Armie’s apology at all. Armie doesn’t blame him.

“I...You can leave whenever you want, Armie. You don’t have to be here. You can leave. But...I can’t leave, Armie. I’m...I’m stuck--”

“Timmy--”

“I can’t just get up and leave epilepsy behind. I will have it forever. It won’t go away. And I hate it. So, if you...hate it so much too...why are you still with me? When I...When I make your life so miserable?” Timmy asks heartbrokenly, still unable to meet Armie’s gaze.

“You don’t, Tim. You don’t make my life miserable at all. I love being with you,” Armie begs.

“You don’t.”

“I do--”

“Y-You don’t,” Timmy sobs, putting his head in his hands.

“Baby...” Armie coos. Armie starts to move towards Timmy again, hoping the younger would let him hold him, but he steps away from Armie and starts making his way down the hallway.

“I’m going to bed.”

And with that, Timmy stomps down the hallway towards their bedroom, silently crying along the way. And Armie would be damned if he tries to follow the boy. He knows he will only make it worse.

Armie accepts the fact that the couch will most definitely be his bed tonight, and he can’t say he deserves any better.

\--

It comes as no surprise to Armie that he can’t sleep that night.

He tries to make a comfortable layout on the couch with heaps of pillows and blankets but soon realizes that his insomnia will be kicking his ass for most of the night.

Armie hears Timmy’s sobs from the bedroom, their sound rattling through the silent apartment. Hearing Timmy cry is always hard, but when he knows that it was in fact himself that made him cry, it makes it so much worse. Not to mention he can’t even comfort the boy without upsetting him more. And sitting there listening to your lover cry alone is more painful than he could’ve ever imagined.

Armie tries to go to the bedroom door a few times, knocking in the hopes that Timmy will somehow forgive him, but it doesn’t quite work that way. Timmy immediately tells him to go away, his whimpers only increasing, even as Armie promises him that he loves being with him through the door. He eventually gives up and walks away.

Later, he hears Timmy talking on the phone with Pauline, crying that he ruined Armie’s life and that no one will ever love him as long as he's epileptic. He’s not sure what Timmy’s sister says in response, but she eventually gets him to calm down, and Armie soon hears nothing but silence coming from the bedroom.

And that’s what led him here, smoking outside at the bottom of the stairs at 2 am as he hates himself more and more for what he said to Timmy. He knows that they were both wrong for the words they threw at each other, but he also knows that his words went beyond anything he even thought he was capable of. And he truly  
feels shame for it.

“Fuck,” Armie says to himself as he lights a fourth cigarette.

Not even a minute later, his phone rings in his pocket. His heart sinks a little when he realizes that people don’t usually call to give good news at 2 o’clock in the morning, but when he sees Timmy’s name displayed on the screen, he feels a little relief. Maybe the boy is just as lonely as Armie is. Maybe he wants to hold Armie as much as Armie wants to hold him.

Slightly relieved, Armie brings the phone up to his ear, blowing out smoke before saying, “Hello?”

“Armie…” he immediately hears Timmy sob through the phone.

“Sweetheart, I thought you were asleep,” Armie wonders.

“I was, but...I...where are you? I’m…” Timmy slurs. Why is he slurring, Armie thinks.

“I’m just outside smoking, Tim. What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

Timmy huffs through the phone, breathing right into the mic. “I am, and....no. I’m ‘onna...I’m ‘avin.”

The realization suddenly smacks Armie in the face. Timmy’s having a seizure, alone, in their apartment. His blood runs cold with fear. “You’re having a seizure?!”

Timmy doesn’t answer that. “I’m comin’ t’ get you,” he slurs out, sounding more and more disoriented.

“No!” Armie all but shouts, not caring if their neighbors are asleep. He scrambles to put his cigarette out against the sidewalk and makes his way up the two flights of stairs to their apartment, taking the steps two at a time. “No, you stay right where you are, Timmy. Do you hear me? Don’t move!”

“Armie…” Timmy cries, and Armie’s heart sinks as he hears shuffling on the other side. “Comin’--”

“Timmy, no! I’m coming, baby, I promise. Just lay down for me, okay?” Armie says as he holds his cell phone between his shoulder and ear, clichely dropping his keys as he tries to unlock the door. “Can you lay down?”

Timmy only groans through the phone.

Armie finally gets the door open, keeping his phone against his ear, even as he makes his way down the hall to the bedroom. He doesn’t want to leave Timmy alone for one second.

Armie bursts into their room just in time to see it. He walks in on Timmy pushing himself up from the bed, standing, before quickly toppling over due to his uncoordinated awareness to the world around him as he slowly loses touch to the seizure. The boy comes down like a ton of bricks, falling stiffly and smacking his face off the bedpost at the bottom of their bed. The thud is sickening, and the cries he lets out soon after have Armie on the verge of hurling.

“Oh my god,” Armie lets out quietly to himself as he falls to his knees, trying to keep his shock at bay. He doesn’t want to frighten Timmy. “Let me see, baby. It’s alright.”

Timmy is trembling intensely when he reaches down to touch him. The boy cries as Armie maneuvers him onto his side. Armie holds in a gasp as he sees the bright crimson blood leaking from Timmy’s chin that’s been completely split open in the fall. It will most definitely need stitches.

Timmy starts getting agitated with Armie’s hands inspecting his head and starts pushing his hands away from him, groaning as tears leak from those eyes that are oh so confused.

“Shhh, shhh,” Armie hushes him, “I’m trying to help you, honey.”

Armie feels Timmy start to go rigid beneath his hands and he realizes that he’s not going to have enough time to hold something to Timmy’s chin to stop the bleeding before the boy starts thrashing against the floor. He makes the hard decision and steps away from him, watching as Timmy’s eyes wonder, but he can’t find him. The twitching in his face has already begun.

“You’re gonna go, Timmy. But it’s okay, I’m not gonna leave you. I’ll be right here when you’re done. I promise,” Armie soothes as he watches his lover slowly fall into the hands that is his epilepsy.

Timmy whines that this, apparently having more awareness than Armie had initially thought. He tries to flip onto his stomach and push himself up to be with Armie, but Armie is quick to stop him, crouching down above his head as to give his body as much room as it will possibly need.

“No. Lay down, lay down, lay down. I’m right here,” Armie assures. He takes off his shirt and places it under Timmy’s head.

It starts then. A cry leaves Timmy before his entire body locks up. For a while, it’s only his neck straining, smacking his head against Armie’s balled up shirt as his eyes roll back into his head. Then the full body convulsions begin, his arms and knees locking, his wrists and ankles turned inward in an unnatural way. He’s gasping for air so desperately that he asphyxiates some saliva into his lungs, causing a loud wheezing sound to accompany the already disturbing gurgling noises.

Armie begins to tear up in what must be one of the first times he’s ever become emotional during one of Timmy’s seizures. Because the guilt has hit him like a truck. Because he called Timmy helpless. Because he told Timmy that he didn’t want to be there for him anymore. Because he told Timmy that he would either have to find someone else or he would be dealing with this alone. And that’s just so fucked because...as he watches the boy wither on the floor in front of him now, he can’t imagine what it would be like if he were all by himself.

And Armie had put that fear in his head.

“Oh, god. I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry,” Armie whispers through his tears, barely able to hear himself over Timmy’s strangled cries. 

He has no way of knowing whether these cries are from pain or not, considering his body must be subconsciously registering the pain caused by smacking his face off the bed post.

“You’re alright, Tim. Just come back to me,” Armie croaks, wiping his tears away.

A glance at the clock tells him that Timmy’s seizure is going on four minutes, longer than usual. But despite the time that has passed, his body has yet to slow down. His legs continue to kick out, arms swinging, head thrashing. It doesn’t get better. It only gets worse.

“You’ve got it, lovely. Come on,” Armie says, keeping the fear of calling an ambulance to himself.

Just when Timmy’s jerking starts to slow and he’s almost at a complete stop, the convulsions return, throwing his body around this time harder than the last. The sounds leaving him now sound like sobs as a second seizure takes over him, and Armie doesn’t know if he can take another second of this.

“No, no, no. Don’t go back, baby. Come to me, Timmy. You’ve got it. Come on,” Armie whispers, mostly to himself. He watches as Timmy’s lips turn blue. “You can do it.”

The jerks eventually stop again. This one doesn’t last nearly as long as the last, but Armie still gives Timmy a good minute before touching him, just in case the boy falls into another seizure. He keeps his eyes trained on Timmy as he comes out of his seizure, but not completely out of his trance-like state. 

“There you go. You did so good, Timmy.”

Timmy’s eyes are hardly open, lids low and lethargic. He lays there on his side, doing absolutely nothing but breathing heavily with a continuous wheeze. There’s no groaning, no mumbling, no trying to get up. Armie is immediately concerned.

He finally reaches out to brush his hand across Timmy’s cheek, hoping to get some consciousness from him. “Timmy, can you talk to me?”

Nothing. Just breathing.

Armie carefully rolls his lover onto his back, cringing at the sudden view of the wide open cut on the boy’s chin. Timmy doesn’t look at him, doesn’t acknowledge him at all. While that might be normal at times, typically a few minutes after a seizure, he’s agitated and confused. Right now, he’s just blank.

“Timmy, baby?” Armie asks again as he pulls Timmy's eyelids back slightly to get a better look at his eyes. He’s met with blown pupils and a distant stare.

Armie realizes that stitches might not be Timmy’s only concern tonight. He fears the boy might have sustained a concussion from when he toppled over.

“Okay, I’m gonna go get you a towel for your chin and then we’re gonna head to the hospital, okay?” Armie says. He gets nothing in reply.

He knows something is seriously wrong when Timmy has no reaction to Armie leaving him, when normally he would be bursting into tears, grabbing onto Armie with weak hands and trying to run after him. But now? Now he just lays there, not even knowing Armie pulls away from him. Likely not even knowing who Armie is at all.

Armie quickly grabs a towel and is back by Timmy’s side in no time. He leans down to press the cloth against Timmy’s bleeding chin. “Here, baby. Lay still. We gotta stop the bleeding a little bit before we go.”

Timmy lets Armie hold the towel there for a good few minutes, doing nothing but breathing deeply and wheezing along the way. Then suddenly, the boy becomes flustered, quietly whimpering as he weakly reaches up to push Armie’s hand away.

“No, stop. I’m trying to help you. Just let me help you, honey,” Armie soothes, brushing Timmy’s curls back as he holds his chin.

Timmy only grunts again, whining more and more as Armie continues to hold the towel up to his face. Then, out of nowhere, the boy vomits all down the front of himself, on the towel, on Armie’s hand, everywhere. It is then that Armie realizes the boy was trying to tell Armie that he was going to throw up but couldn’t get it out.

“Shit, Tim. You’re alright, just breathe.” Armie doesn’t move his hand, not bothered by the warm liquid that has now covered both himself and his lover.

Instead of crying like Timmy usually did after the unpleasant feeling of throwing up, he returns to staring at the ceiling apathetically.

“It’s alright. We’ll figure this out, sweetheart,” Armie says as he wipes the drool from the side of Timmy’s face without a second thought. “It’ll be okay.”

And soon after, they’re off to the hospital.

\--

Transporting Timmy to the hospital was no easy task. He had to carry the boy bridal style from the apartment into the car after the boy had proven that he couldn’t stand in any way shape or form by collapsing as soon as Armie pulled him to his feet. 

The car ride itself wasn’t too pleasant either. Armie was trying to hold the towel to the boy’s chin and drive at the same time, all while Timmy was whining and clawing at Armie, leaning over the console to lay his head in Armie’s lap. Armie’s heart broke hearing the sounds he was making, hating thinking about the fact that the boy is in so much pain but is too confused to understand why or how.

Armie gets a wheelchair to take Timmy into the hospital when they get there instead of carrying him. After all, it was 3 am and Timmy wasn’t a significantly small person by any means. 

When they checked in, the nurses took Timmy away for a CT scan and some stitches, and Timmy did not take this well. He could hear him throwing a fit as the nurses wheeled him away.

Finally, a doctor comes to get him closer to 4, and Armie is immediately on his feet as he approaches him.

“Hello, Mr. Hammer,” the doctor greets with the utmost disinterest. “I’m Dr. Stowe.”

“Hello, sir,” Armie greets, hoping the doctor is the kind to skip the small talk and get to the point.

“Come with me,” Stowe says, walking his way back where he came from, answering Armie’s prayers. Armie follows. “So, your, uh...friend here did in fact sustain a concussion from the fall. No brain bleeding, thank goodness, but it’s something we should keep an eye on nonetheless due to his condition.”

Armie nods, not at all surprised by the results. “So, what does this mean for now? Can he leave, or?”

Dr. Stowe hesitates then. “Well, with any normal patient, I would say absolutely. However, in the case of Timothée here, we’d prefer he stay with us for at least one night. A concussion can be very serious on the brain, especially with one already as fragile as Timmy’s. So we’ll want to monitor him to make sure it doesn’t cause any cluster seizures or things like that.”

“Of course,” Armie agrees, his heart jumping as Stowe stops in front of a room door.

“Quick question for you. Did he happen to change his prescription for his anti-convulsant recently?” Dr. Stowe asks, not telling Armie he’s allowed to enter. It’s making Armie anxious.

“Yeah, actually. He’s switched from Depakote to Topamax as of a week ago,” Armie answers, trying not to think back to their argument.

Stowe nods then. “Ahh, I see. Well, just so you know, a side effect of these medications is irritability. Now, he’s been a little short tempered with our staff so I’m just letting you know before you see it for yourself.”

Armie freezes, thinking back to their argument earlier in the night. He had wondered why Timmy was so quick to be defensive and aggressive against Armie’s desire to want to know what’s going on with his boyfriend. It was so out of character. Armie should have noticed that. He shouldn’t have fed into it.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. He’s right in this room.”

And with that, Dr. Stowe leaves Armie on his own.

For a second, Armie hesitates because he doesn’t want to face Timmy just yet. But then he thinks about how scared and confused Timmy must be and decides that he’s being selfish before he opens the door.

When he walks in, the sight isn’t nearly as scary as Armie thought it would be. There aren’t wires coming out of every inch of his body, there isn’t a breathing mask over his beautiful face, there isn’t an eerie silence filling the room. There’s just his gorgeous Timmy, curled up in a hospital bed and down with a gauze taped over his stitched chin, watching shitty reruns of Jeopardy on the small TV provided in the room.

As he steps into the room, Timmy’s gaze slowly meets his, and the younger’s face immediately lights up at the sight of Armie, his eyebrows raised and his green eyes wide.

“Armie…” the boy whispers as Armie chuckles and makes his way over to the chair beside the bed.

“Hey, baby,” Armie says happily, flopping into the uncomfortable cushion. “How’re you feeling?”

Timmy can only stare at him, his jaw slack with shock. “Here.”

Armie grabs the boy’s hand then. “Of course I’m here.”

Timmy reaches up to clumsily touch Armie’s face. It’s almost as if he doesn’t believe Armie is really there. His eyes are blown with confusion. “Not mad? I thought…”

Armie feels a pang of guilt there. He was hoping that Timmy hadn’t remembered their argument, but of course he had. It upset him deeply. “No, baby. I’m not mad anymore. And I never should have said those things to you. You didn’t deserve that, and I’m sorry.”

Armie can tell that Timmy didn’t catch half of what he said, still blatantly disoriented, but he does catch his apology. “Why sorry?” he mumbles, his speech pattern still slightly off.

“Because the things I said were very unkind,” Armie explains slowly, kissing Timmy’s knuckles.

“Sorry, too,” Timmy says back, though he still looks extremely bewildered. He likely doesn’t remember what the fight itself was about, but he does know that they were both in the wrong and that an apology on his end was needed too.

Armie gives him a sweet smile. “It’s okay. I forgive you.” 

Timmy bites his lip then. “Cuddle?” he mumbles after a slight hesitation.

Armie chuckles at the request. “I suppose I could try fitting in that bed with you.”

With that, he crawls into the bed beside Timmy, the younger instantly resting his head on his boyfriend’s chest and sighing with relief. Armie likes this. Even though it might not be the most ideal of circumstances, he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

After a few long minutes, Timms finally questions, “Here? Why?”

Armie rubs his lovers back to soothe him. “I brought you to the hospital after you fell because I thought you got a concussion. And you cut your chin. Do you remember falling?”

Timmy thinks for a second. “No.”

“Do you remember why you fell?”

Another beat. “No…”

Armie makes sure to hold him tighter, to show him he loves him, to show him it doesn’t change anything between them before saying, “You had a seizure.”

Timmy must completely misinterpret his words, because his body becomes stiff from what seems to be fear and when he looks up there are tears in his eyes. His lips quiver with impending cries.

Armie sits up a bit, reaching up to wipe the tears from his face. “Whoa, hey, hey, hey. What’s the matter?”

Timmy sniffles before burying his face into Armie’s chest and clinging to his shirt clumsily. “I don’t want to have a seizure.’

At first, Armie is confused. Then he understands. Timmy understood him wrong.

“No, no, baby. You already had a seizure. You had one earlier. You’re not gonna have one. It’s alright. I promise,” Armie says into the mass of Timmy’s curls.

Timmy looks up at Armie, tears still threatening to spill over. “No seizure.”

“No seizure,” Armie confirms with a comforting smile.

Timmy hesitates before he nods and lays his head on Armie's chest again, watching the tiny TV. Before long, he starts to yawn. 

“Tired.”

“You can sleep, Timmy. Go ahead and get some rest,” Armie assures.

“Won’t leave?” Timmy asks as he grips Armie’s shirt in his hand, wanting to make him physically stay.

“I won’t leave you.”

Timmy seems satisfied with this and falls asleep quickly against Armie’s heartbeat. Just before Armie drifts off to sleep himself, he affirms something to the open room that he’ll never dare to go back on.

“I won’t ever leave you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos! 
> 
> I really appreciate you guys' feedback. It makes me so motivated to write more!
> 
> Let me know if you'd like more. Also my tumblr is still sweettimotea if you wanna ask, suggest, or just chat!  
> <3


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